Fresh
by MaleaBotor
Summary: A Ten/Rose story that involves weird, alien sicknesses. Also, soup.


**Title:** Fresh  
**Summary:** Ten has a sick day and Rose tries to look after him.  
**Rating:** PG-13 because of adult concepts. Oooh.  
**Word count:** 3250  
**Characters/pairings:** Ten/Rose  
**Disclaimer:** All I own are potentially the words I make up.  
**Author's notes:** This is based off of something my friend said when she was feeling very tired and I decided I needed to make Ten say. And then it exploded from there.

"It's all right," said the Doctor, "I'm fine. I'm fresh as a cake."

"First thing," said Rose, "you're clearly not. You're doing some kind of...weird blue alien sweating thing. I've never seen...well, never mind that. Beside that, you just said you were fresh as a CAKE."

"Yes?" said the Doctor, leaning back against the console, blue drops trailing down his hair and dropping off onto it.

"A CAKE, Doctor. A CAKE." Rose rushed to prop him up as his arms wobbled and totally failed to support him. He nearly went sprawling back onto what she thought were some particularly important controls although Rose could never be totally sure. They could be souvenirs for all the Doctor would say about them.

"I fail to see the problem," said the Doctor weakly. "Although, you're right, I seem to have caught a little...something back on Ghret. Probably just a variation of what you'd call flu, nothing to worry—" Then, without warning, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he slid onto the floor, Rose making a frantic attempt to ease the impact.

"Fresh as a cake, all right," she muttered, mopping some of the blue off his forehead with her sleeve. "Why d'you have to be so pigheaded?"

"M'not," the Doctor murmured. "Pigs look entirely different." Rose sighed with relief. For a moment, she had been a little scared that--no. He was an alien. He worked differently.

"Doctor, if you can somehow get up...I can help, but I think you need some bed rest. And fluids or something. Oh god. What if that's exactly the wrong thing to give to aliens when they're sick...I've no idea." Through this, the Doctor remained comatose, not saying anything else.

"Doctor? Come on, I don't know where your bedroom is. I don't even know if you SLEEP. Well, except for when you're seriously injured." Realising she was babbling with nervousness, Rose closed her mouth. He was clearly quite out of it. Honestly, he went around, pretending he was invincible and look where it had gotten him? Sighing, Rose hooked her arms under his and tried to hoist him up.

"Oof," she said, having to let him down again. "For such a skinny bloke you've certainly got some weight to you." Giving up on lifting him fully, she began to drag him instead, hoping that the TARDIS would help her.

The Doctor awoke, and instantly passed out again.

Ten minutes later, he awoke once more, noticed woozily that everything seemed to taste rectangular for some reason, tried to open his eyes, and then passed out again.

Another five minutes passed and he finally, after bracing himself mentally, managed to open his eyes and was rather surprised to find himself in Harry's old room. Not only couldn't he remember how he'd gotten there, but also he hadn't been able to find the place for years. He looked around and passed out again shortly after his eyes were assaulted by a particularly vibrant Union Flag.

'This is becoming quite ridiculous,' thought the Doctor as he came to for the fourth time (that he remembered, that is). A second thought struck him and he ended up commenting on it as Rose walked in.

"Utterly ridiculous," he slurred. "Teenager? No! Out of order. Thoughts! What...how old was Harry? I don't seem to remember him being quite so...what is a Union Flag doing on the wall?"

"Doctor, you're awake!" said Rose, rushing over to him. "Thank goodness! I thought you—"

"Yes, good, hello, Rose," said the Doctor. "Thanks for your concern. But I was just asking you a very important question. In fact, it's absolutely imperative that you answer me."

"What?" said Rose. "The flag? I was under the impression that this was YOUR room. The TARDIS had the door open and everything! And I dunno, you're always coming back to Britain, I just thought you were expressing some weird form of patriotism."

"No, it was just the closest bedroom, probably," said the Doctor, "for some reason. Rose, I don't mean to alarm you, but you're looking awfully blurry today. Perhaps you should consider glasses."

"Doctor?" said Rose.

"Oh, ah," said the Doctor. "Here I go again. 5, 4, 3, 2—"

The first thing the Doctor noticed upon reawakening was the smell of tea. Well, nearly. The actual first thing he noticed in a strange, insightful moment was that the sheet he was clutching weakly to himself was made up of 5 billion individual stitches but he dismissed this instantly as being silly and irrelevant. Perhaps he could bring it up later to impress Rose.

The smell of tea entered his wobbly consciousness next, bringing with it a sense of renewal. Also, Earl Grey.

"I thought it might help," said Rose, who was holding the teacup on a saucer in her hands. "It did last time. But if you need juice or something..."

"Hold on," said the Doctor. "I'm...remembering how to sit up. I think it has something to do with the careful manipulation of muscles but I can't be sure."

"I'll try and prop up some pillows," said Rose, placing the tea on a bedside table that was empty but for a single lamp and a copy of Bleak House. The Doctor suspected it was there less for the fact that Harry had actually been reading it and more because he thought it was the sort of thing that ought to be on one's bedside table. This thought amused him for half a minute before he remembered what he had been trying to do before and noticed Rose attempting to stuff some pillows beneath him. Finally managing to prop him up, she returned to the chair she seemed to have brought in and lifted the tea towards him.

"D'you think you can remember how to swallow or is this a lost cause?" she asked, looking at him in concern. It was quite nice, actually (the concern, not the thought of not being able to swallow). It was what brought the customary grin to his face.

"I think I can manage that," he said. "Only, have my teeth suddenly gotten too large for my face or is my mouth just three sizes too small? I fear the latter."

"Same as usual," said Rose, not able to hold back her smile. With shaking hands, he took the tea from her and slopped a substantial amount down his front before managing to bring it to his lips and sip carefully.

"This is not, I'm afraid, having quite the drastic effect as last time," he said, as Rose gasped and began to mop up the liquid with a spare blanket. "Probably due to this being a strange sort of virus rather than post-regenerative stress." Noticing Rose beginning to look crestfallen, he hastened to add, "But it is really fantastically good tea. Very well, er, steeped. Good choice of kettle."

"Thanks," said Rose, "but I really would like to know what you actually need. You look awful."

"Still blue?" the Doctor asked. Rose nodded. "Hmm," he said pensively.

"Do you know what it is?" Rose said hopefully.

"Haven't a clue," he said. "I wasn't aware that I COULD catch things. Well, other than cricket balls. Virus-type things are completely on the other hand. They are on an entirely different pitch. One that's not quite as green and nobody likes to visit because all the really rubbish players play there but you—sorry, when did I start talking about cricket? What was I—?"

"You don't know what it is," said Rose flatly.

"Ah, right," said the Doctor. "I think...I think I'll have a bit of a nap. Then, later, I'll have some sort of...whatever it is you ought to have when you're sick and then I'll run some tests on myself."

"Soup," said Rose.

"Rose," said the Doctor sternly, fixing her with a look, "soup is not a test."

"No, soup!" she said impatiently. "For sick people! Would you like me to make you some soup?"

"That would be lovely, actually," said the Doctor, feeling himself begin to drift off. He'd tired himself out by all of that...motor skill functioning. "But not chicken noodle. I HATE chicken noodle, it makes me feel...like I ought...to be...sick..."

In what passed as a kitchen for the TARDIS, Rose attempted soup. It wasn't easy. The kitchen was only lightly stocked, as when they ate in the TARDIS, the Doctor generally made them dinner with some sort of matter-thing he had near the front, so he clearly didn't go food shopping very often. Or ever. Did he have money? Rose pondered where the few things that were in his kitchen had come from and decided that this was a question best saved for when the Doctor wasn't potentially at death's door.

As it was, she counted it lucky that his fridge and cupboards seemed to act as stasis devices, as otherwise she was certain, by now, that the stored items would have developed their own civilisation by now. Not that she had never USED the kitchen before, but generally, it was with something she had just happened to pick up somewhere and wanted to try her hand at preparing. Most of the time, it just wasn't worth the effort.

So, here she was now, trying to make soup out of potatoes, a tomato, two carrots, about a hundred stalks of celery and something that she was fairly certain was chicken stock while the Doctor lurched around a sort of laboratory he had in the back rooms, taking blood samples and playing with chemicals and test tubes and all-around indulging himself. Not that she begrudged him that, what with him being so sick but she wasn't sure that it was a good idea for him to be administering highly reactive chemicals to himself when he could barely stand. She tried to bring her mind back to the job at hand: cooking.

'Another thing,' thought Rose, 'that this kitchen is SERIOUSLY lacking is a spice rack. This is going to be the most boring soup anyone has ever received. He doesn't even seen to have any salt or pepper.'

After much searching, she found two unlabeled jars full of powdery substances and sniffed carefully at each of them after unscrewing the tops.

One of them smelt of nothing and looked very much like salt, and the other smelt like turkeys and was probably savoury. She was hesitant to put either of them in, not knowing exactly what they were but decided eventually that the Doctor wouldn't put poison in his kitchen (as he had an entirely different room to put THAT in) and sprinkled a bit of each of them in, stirring the soup instantly after.

After letting the vegetables cook for a while longer, Rose automatically tasted a bit of the soup before remembering she had put unknown substances into it. It didn't seem to matter though, and in all, it tasted pretty good. In fact, she thought it was excellent, considering what she'd had to work with.

"Doctor!" she yelled, hoping that he would be close enough to hear. He wasn't (or he was ignoring her). Sighing, she considered transporting the soup all the way to him, but decided that she'd probably end up spilling it all over herself if she tried. Instead, she ran out into the hall and tried calling for him again, until she heard a weak reply.

"Yes, what? I'm a little busy right now, Rose, trying to extract—" Bursting into the room she had heard his voice from, she was horrified to find that he had hooked himself up to a small series of tubes poked into his left arm.

"Doctor! Is that SAFE?"

"Well, I'M not safe," he said rather crossly. "I've no idea why my scientific processes should be. Nothing's working, Rose. I thought I'd isolated the cause of this sickness but it turned out that I'd--"

"Sorry to interrupt your mad sciencing, but I finished your soup," said Rose. "And, really, you look like you're going to collapse."

"I'm fine," said the Doctor stubbornly. Rose crossed her arms sternly.

"Yes, that's what you said last time. And then I had to drag you all around the TARDIS looking for a bedroom and I do NOT fancy doing that again, especially not when you have a series of small tubes sticking out of your arm! Come right now and sit down!" The Doctor looked a little taken aback, then rueful as he started to remove the tubes.

"I suppose a break would let me take a fresh look at the problem," he said, turning off some of the devices on the table in front of him.

"Yes, right, good," said Rose, humouring him. Noticing this, he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Steady," he said. "I'm 903. I don't need—"

"And all that seems to have done is made you careless about yourself," said Rose, coming over to support him. "You're dripping blue and losing your motor functions and I don't want to see that happen to you, all right? Oh god, I sound like Mum. Come on, before it gets worse."

Nodding in acquiescence (and a small amount of worry, perhaps at the thought of traveling with Jackie), the Doctor slung an arm over her shoulder and rested most of his weight onto her. She braced herself and helped him walk to the kitchen. He was clearly a lot more tired than he was trying to make her think.

When they reached the kitchen, the Doctor slumped thankfully into a chair at the small table therein and leaned onto his elbows on the table. After a bit of searching, Rose managed to find a bowl, and a ladle and poured out a portion of soup. A bit more searching later, she brought it to him with the addition of a spoon.

"Here you go," she said apologetically. "Sorry about the...weirdness. I just made it with what there was. And there wasn't much. We really need to go to a supermarket sometime and pick up groceries."

"We don't need groceries, do we?" said the Doctor, looking surprised, his eyes wide and fixed on hers as he sipped at a spoonful of soup. "This is quite good, actually."

"See?" said Rose. "Even you're surprised. How old are those ingredients? And why is there an entire drawer in the fridge packed with nothing but celery?"

"Er..." said the Doctor, looking embarrassed for some reason and busying himself with eating soup. In what seemed like no time at all, he had finished his bowl and was holding it out to Rose. "Is there any more?"

"Loads," said Rose. "I got a little carried away, actually. I think I might have some too." She refilled the Doctor's bowl and somehow managed to find one to fill for herself.

Sitting down across the table from him and handing him his soup, they both ate, in a silence that Rose was completely unaccustomed to, especially from this Doctor. The old one, perhaps, but her New New Doctor was generally unfortunately talkative during mealtimes, displaying a total lack of table manners as he babbled to her about everything that he found exciting (which was a lot).

Now he seemed to be focused utterly on just getting the spoon to his mouth and it unsettled Rose more than she'd ever let him know because he'd never let her have a quiet moment again.

The soup was actually remarkably good. They hadn't eaten for some time, actually, due to being rather busy all day.

Full, Rose finished her bowl and was rather surprised to see the Doctor holding out his for another serving.

"You're sure?" she asked, not wanting him to be literally sick.

"Oh, trust me, it's doing me a world of good," said the Doctor. He _was_ looking a lot less...blue. "You humans certainly know your way around a Ghret Fever cure."

"It's just soup," said Rose disbelievingly as she passed him back his bowl again.

...And again.

At the end of his meal, which had taken a surprisingly short time considering he had finished the pot, the Doctor was looking much better.

"I'm cured!" he pronounced happily and Rose eyed him critically.

"That doesn't get you out of another day of bed rest," she said.

Feeling really, very much better, the Doctor sighed long-sufferingly as a joke, and smiled at Rose to let her in on it.

There really was something bothering him about the soup, though. He was certain that soup wasn't meant to work so...medicinally. Besides that, he was feeling a little overheated, in a different, less sick fashion than before. Best to ask, he supposed.

"You said...you made this soup out of 'what there was'," he said casually. "Er...what WAS there?"

Rose listed vegetables and he cringed again at the mention of the celery. He really needed to get around to cleaning out that crisper drawer. In fact, he could sense himself BLUSHING. How odd.

"Anything other than produce?" he asked quickly, drawing attention away from the celery.

"Salt," said Rose. "And this other spice."

"Other spice?"

"Well, I don't know what it is, but I think it's savory. Pretty sure. It's not—!"

"No, it's probably perfectly harmless, just I should take a look, be on the safe side." Rose brought it to him and he looked at the little, label less glass bottle, opening it and automatically bringing up a small amount of the undiluted spice to sample.

As soon as he rolled the flavour across his tongue, he knew. Ah.

Oh dear.

"Er...it's NEARLY savory," he said, closing the bottle again and placing it carefully down. "Now, what I don't understand is how this could be the only spice left, other than salt, of course. Has it really been that long since I stocked the spice cabinet?

I've been meaning to get around to fixing up this kitchen for around a century and—"

"Doctor," said Rose, looking at him with a slight frown, "what do you mean 'NEARLY' savoury?"

"Well, it's the closest Rel'Toc substitute for Earth's Satureja montana--"

"What?!"

"Er...winter savoury. Works as an expectorant and an antiseptic, which is probably why I'm feeling so much better. Except..."

"Except what?" Rose said, giving him a look that made him flush.

"Welll, it also has a bit of a side-effect. Nothing to worry about."

"Doctor, I ate some of the soup too!" The Doctor looked at her with his mouth open, his tongue touching the back of his front teeth.

"Ah," he said. "Oh."

"Oh god," said Rose, looking panicky, "It's some sort of poison, isn't it! I'm feeling all tingly already, that must be—"

"No! It's not poison," said the Doctor hurriedly before Rose could tell him any more of her symptoms. Rose frowned, breathing deeply.

"Well then?"

"Uhr..." stalled the Doctor. "In a highly condensed form like this, Winter savory is actually...a rather potent...er, aphrodisiac."

He ran a nervous hand through his hair, then ran it through again for good measure. Rose wouldn't stop STARING at him, and if she didn't respond soon, he was going to have to leave the room, and QUICKLY. Probably running.

"All right," she said eventually.

"All right?!"

"Yeah," said Rose, giving him her cheeky-tongue-between-teeth-grin. "Because I can definitely use this to my advantage."

The Doctor thought this had probably been one of his better sick days.


End file.
